There's the lake, the barn, the massive covered arena, but what really got my attention was Alligator Ron's Saloon.

I've seen some party rooms in my life, but never a large separate saloon filled with deer, alligator, cougar, bobcat and turkey mounts, vintage rifles and pistols, a life-size re-creation of Chief Osceola, and a long, well-stocked bar that has fringed saddles serving as bar stools.

He then introduced himself to another in our party, a young man with a shaved head, and ordered, "Comb your hair, son."

I knew I was going to like this guy.

Our caravan left Green Glades East and headed west on Alligator Alley until we exited and drove through the Seminole Indian reservation and on deep into the woods.

When we arrived at Green Glades West, the "camp" turned out to be 8,000 acres adjacent to Big Cypress Preserve and, as Bergeron pointed out, 4.2 million acres of preservation land that runs all the way to Florida Bay.

And you're not exactly roughing it there with nice cabins and a cookhouse that comes with a cook, Norma, a Cuban-American who knows a thing or two about preparing food.

We spent Friday afternoon and Saturday touring this magnificent part of Florida that is one of the natural wonders of the world and that Bergeron is determined to conserve.

"Pristine" is a word Bergeron uses a lot, and it's not an exaggeration when you're standing in a cypress swamp next to a 500-year-old cypress tree that took root when the Spanish explored Florida.

Another is "peaceful," which accurately captures the feeling of watching the deer, bear and turkey that roam Green Glades West.

"Mischievous" is one of the words I would use to describe Alligator Ron.

One of his bulls bellowed from behind a thicket, a startling sound that widened the eyes of one of our party, a young lady who recently graduated from college and decided on this trip that she was more of a city girl than a country girl even though she hails from a tiny town in North Carolina.

"Skunk ape," Bergeron said of the sound with a straight face. "There's lots of them here."

Perhaps that's what cemented her city girl revelation, or it could have been when Bergeron shouted "Snake!" as we tromped through a swamp. There, of course, was no snake.

As for the name Alligator Ron, it comes from rassling alligators, a part of the Glades culture that Bergeron grew up with and wants to preserve.

It's an avocation that almost did him in in 2006.

As he tells the story, wealthy guests who had contributed $25,000 to a charity to spend a weekend at Green Glades West didn't think they would get their money's worth until they saw him rassle a gator.

Bergeron obliged, and as he told the story sitting in an ATV by the pond where the drama unfolded, things went wrong, from "serious to very serious" in a hurry.

Bergeron was locked in a struggle to survive as the gator had him by the hand and in a death roll. The audience thought it was part of the show and applauded until they noticed the finger dangling by a tendon and the wounds that required more than 100 stitches.

Alligator Ron won the battle and, not long afterwards, his hand still bandaged, he was at the White House standing in a line to meet President George W. Bush.

The president: What happened to your hand?

Bergeron: I was rassling an alligator.

The president, leaning close to Bergeron: You're kidding, right?

Bergeron: No.

A couple of years later, he was again in a line to shake hands with Bush.

The president: You're that guy that rassles alligators.

Bergeron: Yes, sir.

The president, again leaning close to Bergeron: You were kidding me, right?

Of course, the alligator incident made the news, and the animal defenders wanted the state to prosecute him for "molesting an alligator."

Bergeron's response: "I wasn't rassling a squirrel. I was rassling the top of the food chain."

After one of our evening meals, Bergeron offered career advice to a young man in our group: Be humble. Be honest. Be ethical. Work hard.

Later, he and I talked politics. He's big in Republican circles. Me, not so much.

But what I find to be a rarity these days in political discussions, he didn't consider me evil nor I him.

By the end of the evening, we decided what the presidency needed was a "Ron and Ron" ticket.

As we said our farewells the next morning, I reminded him about our presidential ticket.

My wife asked if we were planning for 2016.

Alligator Ron looked at me, and we agreed that for the good of our country, "Ron and Ron" was needed in 2012.

ron.littlepage@jacksonville.com, (904) 359-4284

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